


Fidelity

by aaronjolrass (katierambles)



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Arranged Marriage, Extramarital Affairs, F/M, Secret Relationship, This is just smut, they're in arranged marriages but not to each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-28 21:52:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6346747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katierambles/pseuds/aaronjolrass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It would figuratively end her life. It would literally end his. They decided they didn't care.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fidelity

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically just smut (like 95% smut), but I had the idea about them being in a world where arranged marriages are an enforced thing and corruption is rampant and there are is a strict class system, and the two of them choosing to have an affair anyway despite her being engaged and him being married and them being in different classes. It's not canon era, but it's not really modern era either. Reader's choice as to when/where this is taking place.
> 
> There is a brief, passing mention of non-consent (everything depicted in this story is consensual).

The first time he made love to her, he held onto her like she was the most precious thing in the world.

They were never meant to meet. Enjolras was a student teacher at the university. Éponine wasn't a student, but she'd attended one of his classes one day when she was avoiding going home. She did that as much as she could lately, ever since the marriage had been announced, and she didn't really have anywhere to go.

He was Grecian beautiful, a marble bust of a man, the kind of beauty wars were waged over. She could tell his dark blonde hair was curly and that he tried to keep it slicked down, professional, but a few strands curled out defiantly. He wore glasses along with the most stereotypical professor outfit Éponine had ever seen, and it somehow complimented him further.

After his class, she'd gone up and asked him about a book he'd mentioned during his lecture. He enthusiastically told her about it and said she could borrow his copy.

When they'd gotten to his office, they'd both forgotten about the book and the class. They ended up talking about everything. Éponine was surprised by how easy it was; he was quietly charming and so kind, and when she caught his eyes lingering and saw how he forced his eyes away from her, she smiled to herself.

They both knew the strict class system. They knew how this works. If anyone were to find out about anything between the two of them, he'd probably end up being executed by the end of it, and she'd be socially ostracized, labeled a whore. Her fiancé, Montparnasse, was the jealous type, and he had the power to enforce his control on her.

Éponine's fiancé said once, after forcing himself on her: "Any man who touches you dies. You belong to me." She knew he had the power to do that. Like her father, Montparnasse's held a substantial influence over the already corrupt régime. In a world as fucked as this one, men like Éponine's father and Montparnasse lived like kings. The class system was archaic and gendered, and to maintain it certain formalities were employed, like the arranged marriages. Back in the day that had allowed for the older generations to keep the power were they wanted it, but now it was all but illegal to break an arrangement or marry out of your class. Infidelity was commonplace, but Éponine's situation was different. She knew exactly what would happen to anyone that so much as looked at her the wrong way, let alone someone who she attempted a relationship with.

They talked about nothing, and everything. Éponine danced around talking about herself. Enjolras nodded understandingly when she'd commented on Montparnasse, not by name, and she confided in him some of how she felt about her fiancé. She didn’t tell him everything, but she figured he'd be able to infer. He was poor, married off to an ex-convict's daughter. He knew the class structure they were in better than anyone, and situations like Éponine's—the level of control Montparnasse held over her—were more rare but not unheard of.

Enjolras listened to her as she spoke, enchanted. He held on her every word, smiled to himself as he watched her mannerisms.

When they remembered the book they'd come there to get, Enjolras led Éponine to the small private library just off of his office. It looked more like a closet with hand-built shelves with way too many books haphazardly stacked everywhere, and she was pretty sure that’s exactly the situation here was. She was charmed by the little room and the man that searched through the stacks and piles for the book in question, tracing his hands along the spines and muttering to himself as he looked for it.

Éponine stepped forward so she was right beside Enjolras. She put her hand on his, stilling him, and he looked over at her, a confused look on his face that quickly melted away when he met her eyes. They were frozen there, her hand resting on his. His hand was warm and so much bigger than her cold, delicate fingers, and she wondered where a teacher would’ve gotten callouses like the ones he had.

He pulled his hand back apologetically, looking at the ground between them. He muttered something about it being inappropriate, that it was his fault.

He was still mumbling out his apologies when Éponine cupped her hand to his cheek, raising his head gently to have him look at her. Enjolras stopped speaking and looked at her, parting his lips as he searched her eyes desperately. They were so close she could see her eyes reflected in his glasses, and when she licked her lips he stared at her mouth longingly.

They both knew they couldn't do this.

She didn’t even know him. Today was the first day the two of them had even spoken. She didn't even know what time it was, or how long she'd sat talking to him. She knew she had to leave before something happened.

It was wrong.

Enjolras looked back up to her eyes. He looked so young, confused, innocent, conflicted, lost. His eyebrows quirked, and it was such a small, subtle expression Éponine would’ve missed it had she not been so close to him.

It would figuratively end her life.

Éponine stroked her thumb on his cheek and felt the stubble there. She felt older than herself in that moment, like stress and pain and fear had aged her. Every option before them had its share of pain, and she didn't want to make a decision at all.

It would _literally_ end his life.

Enjolras moved forward suddenly and took her mouth with his, his arms wrapping around her body tightly. Éponine responded eagerly, moving her tongue with his, bringing one of her hands up to knot in his hair. He licked into her mouth, tilting his head so he could move deeper. A deep growl came from the back of his throat, and he pulled her body so tightly against his her feet almost left the ground. She jumped and wrapped her legs around his waist, and he supported her, one of his hands on her lower back and the other on her thigh. He turned, pressing her back against one of his bookshelves, and swallowed the moan that escaped her lips.

Their mouths parted and Éponine gasped, the air knocked from her lungs, but he didn't stop: he kissed the corner of her mouth, her cheek, her jaw, her neck—any skin of hers he could reach, he kissed desperately, roughly, hungrily, like he thought she'd be torn from him any moment.

Her back pressed painfully against the books, and Enjolras pressed his body fully against hers, his erection against her stomach. Heat pooled in her stomach and throbbed in her veins, and when a low growl escaped him again, she tightened her hand in his hair, grounding him.

This felt nothing like the times with her fiancé, and that confused Éponine. Both Enjolras and Montparnasse were forceful. Yet now, she _wanted_ Enjolras to touch her, to be this close to her. There was no fear. She trusted him to not hurt her. She felt truly safe in his arms.

His mouth not leaving her skin, he pulled her blouse down just enough to kiss and suck her collarbone and chest. She pulled at his hair again, teasing him this time, and he suddenly thrust hard against her, making her whimper.

Enjolras kissed his way back up to her neck while pulling her blouse out from where it was tucked into her skirt. He worked clumsily with one hand, the other still supporting her at her thigh and his body pressing her against the books. Éponine reached down and helped him, pulling her shirt out enough for him to get his hand up to cup her breast. He massaged roughly, palming her, feeling her, all while sucking at her pulse point on her neck. When she felt his teeth there she gasped, and he soothed the spot with his tongue.

He was still grinding against her, and she was so wet she thought he had to be able to feel it, even though her panties and his trousers. He moved his hand on her thigh further, pushing her skirt up around her stomach and moving his hand around her to fully grab her ass.

Enjolras dropped his hand from her breast and reached down between them, teasing the lace on her panties, just barely letting his fingertips trace her skin. He moved his fingers to her inner thigh and traced her panties there, and he was so close to where she needed him she wanted to scream. Éponine moaned and pulled his hair impatiently, and she could feel him smiling against her neck.

“Éponine, you’re so wet,” he murmured against her ear, tasting her name on his tongue. Despite the playful tone, his voice was a deep rumble that went straight to her clitoris.

Enjolras traced his fingertips along the soaking wet lace, smiling as she arched her back against him and moaned, begging him to touch her.

"Please," she said, trying to grind against his hand. She pouted at him and pleaded with her eyes. Enjolras smiled gently and pushed her panties aside, curling a finger into her and hitting a spot she hadn't known existed.

Éponine's eyes widened and then fell closed as she breathed in deeply, letting that sensation wash over her and leaning her head back against the spines of old dusty books. She held onto his shoulders with both hands as he pumped pleasure into her, stroking that spot again and again and again.

“You have to be quiet, sweetheart,” he murmured, nuzzling his nose against her cheek lovingly as he added a second finger. Éponine hadn't even been aware she'd been making any noise.

She bit her lip as he rubbed his calloused thumb against her clitoris, still moving his fingers inside her, and it was all too much. She felt herself drawing close, her breathing shallow, every exhale a quiet moan. Enjolras moved his mouth to cover hers, muffling her moans, and for that she was thankful.

When he felt her tighten, he pulled his face back just enough to watch her. She came with a silent gasp, her eyes wide and legs twitching as pleasure overwhelmed her, her warm, wet center throbbing around his fingers.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said then, and he looked like he meant it.

As she recovered, Enjolras sucked his fingers into his mouth, savoring the taste of her on his tongue. His hand where it was, Éponine saw his wedding ring on his finger and was reminded then with a pang of guilt of the partners they both had waiting for them.

He noticed her worried expression and saw her staring at his wedding ring, and he dropped his hand sheepishly.

“It’s not... I don’t...” he began, but the words died in his throat. Éponine's legs were still around him and his other hand still held her up by her thigh, but she felt heavier in his arms now. She looked up to his eyes and took in the sight of him: hair ruffled, lips slick and swollen, the shoulders of his shirt wrinkled from where she had held onto him, his glasses on slightly crooked. He pouted at her and she wanted to laugh from how ridiculous and awful and fucked the situation was.

Enjolras moved in a little closer to her, glancing down at her lips. He looked hopeful, his expression asking for just a little bit more. He was so damn cute her heart hurt just looking at him.

She noticed him taking her in as well: he smiled weakly as he looked at her, like he was so tired and content and sad, all at once.

His expression changed and his eyes softened, and unspoken words passed between them. They both knew this was it. They couldn't do anything besides this, ever, at the risk of her reputation and more importantly his life. Their relationship was confined to this little library and this little moment. She realized that, for now, she was okay with that.

He wrapped his arm around her tightly, both his hands pulling her body against his. He sighed against her neck as he nuzzled against her as closely as he could. She could feel how hard he was, but he didn't push it further. He just pressed gentle little kisses against her neck, and she was vaguely aware that he was muttering something, completely lost in his own head.

‘Gentle’ was the word for him, she decided. Despite everything, he was such a gentle person; the way he moved his large, calloused hands and frankly his whole body so deliberately. He held her like she was the most precious thing in the world and he was afraid of breaking her. A lot of the way he was would suggest roughness or anger or frustration, but it wasn't what he chose to present. Éponine had never known men to be like that. They were always harsh and demanding and controlling, and whatever anger was there, everyone knew about it. But with Enjolras, she could see the anger brimming just under the surface, but that's where he kept it. It was an anger that was put in him, not one that was born there: he hated the system they were both in, hated the lies he was forced to teach, hated that everything was the way it was, and when he'd spoken to her earlier she could see the hints of a man who could be brought to violence for his beliefs. Not an instinctually violent man, but the kind that would fight if he had to. A soldier. A revolutionary. A liberator. Despite all this, though, he was only gentle.

He was charming but capable of being terrible, and he was clever enough to hide both of those traits.

Enjolras had the body and especially the hands of a man who’d had to work to survive. He'd mentioned it earlier but hadn’t gone into detail, and she knew he'd had to fight to become a professor. When he spoke about it she could see not a bitterness there, but a weariness. Like he was afraid he’d be found out and cast out, and that frustrated him as well as terrified him, and the fear he felt only frustrated him more.

His face was tucked in against her neck, kissing a small bruise he'd given her, and Éponine pulled Enjolras lightly by his hair and brought his head back so she could look at him. She traced his mouth with her fingertips, and he parted his lips. He kissed her fingertips, just barely touching his tongue to her index finger, and when she made a small noise in surprise at that, he smiled at her playfully.

She could feel that he was still hard, painfully so, and as she looked at him she could see that he was so desperate he was nearly delirious, but he was forcing himself to stay calm and in control. Not taking any more than what he’s given.

Éponine moved against him suddenly, and the grunt that escaped him turned into a long moan as she rolled her hips against him. His eyes closed and he tilted his head back, but she pulled him closer to her.

“I need you,” she moaned into his ear, and the noise he made in response sounded more like agony that pleasure. She swore she felt his cock twitch against her, even through his pants. She continued, stroking his hair and still grinding against him, “I need you inside me. Please.”

Enjolras pulled his head back and looked at her, snapped almost back to reality. “Are you sure?"

Éponine smiled wickedly and instead of responding, reached down and unbuttoned his pants. When she took his cock in her hand and stroked, a noise from deep in his throat escaped him. He thrust into her hand a few times, eyes closed tight and mouth wide in a silent gasp as he shamelessly fucked her hand, desperate for friction at last.

He pulled himself together long enough to pull her hand away and line himself up with her entrance. He looked up at her, his eyes asking for permission again, and she smiled and nodded.

He thrust into her in one smooth stroke and she took him to the hilt. He was so big, so thick, that she gasped sharply at the feeling, arching her back and throwing her head back so hard she almost hit her head on the books. He filled her so thoroughly, stretching her almost painfully, and her entire body felt aflame. Enjolras looked like he was in about the same mental place as her: his breathing was deep, a vein in his forehead now present, his body covered in a light sweat, a ferocity in him just barely still contained.

He was seething as he looked at her, waiting for her to adjust to his size, and when she squeezed him the noise he made didn't sound human. After a second he recovered enough to look back up at her, and with a growl he suddenly slammed into her so hard one the shelves behind her gave out, the books spilling onto the floor at his feet. He didn't care, didn't stop, his pace brutal and demanding and unhinged. Éponine tightened her legs around him and tried to meet his thrusts, but it was all she could do to just hold on for the ride and keep herself quiet.

Éponine found out then that when he’s in the moment, Enjolras had quite the mouth on him.

He didn't really seem to be aware of what he was saying

“Fucking Christ," he growled against her. "Your cunt’s so fucking perfect, I could fuck you forever. You’re so fucking tight for me. So fucking wet, you’re dripping. I'm gonna come inside you just so I can lick you clean. You tasted so fucking good, but I want more. I want to taste your cunt, I want to claim you, I want you to be mine.”

The whole time he spoke, he bucked his hips wildly into her. One of his hands had moved up to her hair and pulled roughly, making her twist her neck so he could press his forehead against the side of her head. He rubbed his face against her, savage and animalistic. Éponine chose not to care about the latter part of what he'd said, when he spoke with a little too much honesty, instead just listening to the depth of his voice and how it rumbled in his chest and throat as he spoke.

Éponine came first, and when she did she gasped and stilled and tightened around him, and that’s what made him thrust fully into her with finality as he spilt into her.

 

* * *

 

The fifth time he made love to her, still stuck in that library closet, Enjolras had murmured “I wish I could lay you down and worship your body, like you deserve,” in his post-coital haze.

That had sparked an idea in Éponine.

The two of them had continued seeing each other after that first time against the bookshelves. She'd visited him again, and they'd ended up right back with the books. He'd gotten on his knees before her and hooked one of her legs over his shoulder, supporting her by her hips when her legs went weak. The third time, Éponine had gotten on her knees for him. The fourth and fifth times were like the second half of their initial encounter, tangled together and desperate. Enjolras had said what he said, and that night Éponine thought up her brilliant plan.

She hired a tutor.

Éponine made a deal with her father: she would go along with the arranged marriage with no complaining under one condition: she would be allowed to finish her education. She'd dropped out a couple years before, since it was seen as unneeded for her. Her father reluctantly agreed to her deal, probably just to get her to stop begging him to call off the marriage, and this allowed for Enjolras, a history student teacher, to be hired as her private tutor. He would come over for private lessons three times a week, after his classes, and Éponine was very clear that she did not want to be disturbed during her lessons.

When Enjolras came to her home the first time, the only other person there was Azelma, who left a few minutes later anyway. Éponine led Enjolras to her bedroom, where she'd told her family that she'd be holding her lessons, for optimal privacy, and as soon as the door closed he pushed her back against the door, kissing her deeply.

"I haven't stopped thinking about you," he said between kisses, pulling her legs up around his waist.

"Same," she gasped, unable to say more, tilting her head to the side so he could get his tongue to the corners of her mouth, making her curl her toes and her whole body shiver as he moaned against her lips.

He stepped away from the door and turned, staggering toward her bed, attempting to continue their kissing while also walking and carrying her. He almost made it there perfectly, but her head got caught on the canopy over her bed, and she laughed as he moved them around it.

He laid her back on the bed, his body moving over hers, and he stopped for a moment to look down at her. They were both giddy, and looking at each other then made them both giggle. He kissed her again and she laughed, and he moved both of them up the bed so her head was on a pillow. Éponine delighted in how easily Enjolras could move her, how strong he was.

Enjolras sat back on his legs, straddling her. He pulled his shirt off over his head and tossed it aside and set his glasses on her bedside table. He moved back over Éponine, kissing her again, one of his thighs moving up between her legs to give her friction, and she wrapped her arms around him and felt the skin on his back for the first time. She felt his muscles straining as he held his weight off her and moving as he kissed her. She brought one of her hands around to touch his chest, feeling his pectorals and the light hair there. He was strong, but more than that he was _built_. She'd thought him marble the first time she saw him, and she thought of that again now as she felt his muscles moving, tensing and relaxing under her touch.

His kiss was different this time. Not fully aggressive, but firm, exploratory, a little rougher, and decidedly slow. He dropped to her neck, kissing and nipping at the skin there as Éponine tilted her head for him, giving him more room to work, and closed her eyes. She felt so relaxed, so elated, but at the same time so excited. Despite the fact they'd had sex before, this felt like a consummation.

Éponine moved her hand from his chest to his hair, stroking it back out of his eyes. She let out a small cry, more in surprise than pain, when he suddenly bit down over her pulse. Enjolras immediately stopped and began kissing that same spot gently, lightly humming against the hurt skin and soothing it with his tongue.

“Sorry,” he murmured softly, barely comprehensible as his lips still pressed against her skin.

Éponine tightened her hand in his hair, making him hiss. “Don’t be,” she said in response, grinning.

Éponine was already soaking wet, and she could feel him getting hard against her. Enjolras sat up again suddenly, this time pulling Éponine up with him so she sat in his lap with her legs wrapped around him. Their angle was one they weren't used to, with Éponine higher than Enjolras, and he kissed her like he couldn’t get enough of her. He licked into her mouth and she felt herself becoming lightheaded. He ran his hands up her body, pulling her dress up and off and away, revealing her to him. He unhooked her bra quickly, pulling it from between them and tossing it aside.

Enjolras dropped his mouth to her breast, pulling her nipple between his teeth and circling it with his tongue. Éponine's head fell back, her expression almost pained as she moaned and sighed in pleasure. He kept one arm wrapped around her waist, holding her up and supporting her, as the other rose and found her other breast. He pinched her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it, as his mouth became gentler and his tongue simply circled her. He switched then, his hand gently massaging her as she felt teeth on her other nipple. He bit her just slightly and pulled, making her gasp when he began sucking, hard.

Enjolras bent then, laying her back down again. He moved down her body slowly, kissing every bit of skin he could. She was already so desperate, she didn’t know how much longer she could take this.

“You’re so wet,” he groaned, his mouth against her thigh as he stroked her through her panties.

“Always, when I’m near you,” she said, which was true. Enjolras moaned in response, his eyes nearly rolling back in his head.

He brought his mouth just above her center and pressed a firm kiss. He tilted his head and Éponine felt teeth—he bit her panties and started pulling them down her legs with just his mouth. He ran his hands down her legs gently as well, moving her exactly where he wanted her.

Enjolras sat back on his legs and looked at her, her panties still hanging from his mouth, a playful look on his face as he looked down at her. She could only imagine what she looked like to him now. She knew she was dripping wet, desperate, completely bare for him. He dropped her panties from his mouth and tucked them in his back pocket.

He leaned over, kissing her inner thigh. She ran her fingers through his hair and tried to pull him up. Éponine knew what he wanted to do now, but she didn't want that.

He must’ve thought she was trying to pull his mouth to her cunt, because she felt him smiling against her skin. “Patience,” he said, teasing, but she let out a whine.

“I need you, now,” Éponine moaned, pulling his hair again. “I need you inside me. I can't wait.”

She made a desperate moaning sound as Enjolras looked up at her, surprised by that.

“Please,” she moaned again, spreading her legs further, and that snapped him out of his shock. He got his pants down and kicked them off as he moved on top of her, muttering small praises against her neck as he lined himself up. She wrapped her legs up around him, digging her heels into his lower back encouragingly.

He entered her smoothly and Éponine nearly came right then, he felt so fucking good. He let her adjust to him and let himself get used to the feeling and calm himself; he was just as far gone as she was, and it took everything in him to not just grab her hips and ravage her.

When he started moving his hips, Éponine's mouth fell open and her eyes fell shut. She was always surprised by how big he felt, and feeling him sliding in and out of her now, being able to feel him so intimately because of his size, was the most incredible feeling she’d ever experienced. She could feel the head of his cock, a large vein, every single part of him, as he slid in and out of her, and it was too much, all of it: too slow, too intimate, too much pleasure, all of it overwhelming Éponine as Enjolras rolled his hips again and again and again, his entire body just overwhelming her.

“Fuck! Faster, please, please go faster. Fuck, fuck–” Éponine whined. He was moving so slowly she could barely take it.

She cried out. She honest to god cried out for him, nearly sobbing, and she realized then that she was gasping and whimpering and tearing up and repeating his name, like a mantra, at the pleasure he pumped into her body.

“I’m here,” he murmured against her cheek, kissing the tear she hadn't realized had fallen there. “I’m here, Éponine. It’s okay, sweetheart.” He spoke so softly, so much love in his voice, and it was all too fucking sweet, too intimate, too fucking much, and she let out a half-delirious sob. He brought his hand up and gently cupped the side of her face that his lips weren’t pressed against, stroking her cheek gently with his thumb before moving his hand over to hers, lacing his fingers in hers as he again pressed his lips to her cheek, closing his eyes.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, lips still touching her skin. “You’re so perfect, sweetheart. You feel so good. God, Éponine…” Her name turned into a longer moan—the most erotic, obscene, unhinged noise she had ever heard in her life—and she nearly came right then just from hearing it.

Enjolras turned his head so they were pressed cheek to cheek, and she felt him nuzzle against her, moving his head to rub hers—gentle, but unmistakably animalistic and tenderly dominating. He turned his head again so that his forehead was pressed against her temple. He was breathing hard, covered in sweat, but still tried to kiss her skin as much as he could as he thrust into her.

Her free hand rested on his back and she could feel his muscles working. The heels of her feet dug into his lower back as she tried to bring her legs higher, and suddenly he was hitting the exact right place in her and she arched her back dramatically up against him, crying out in pure, uninhibited pleasure.

They met each other stroke for stroke; she could feel his cock moving in and out of her, each thrust pulling almost completely out of her and then slamming into her to the hilt.

She cried out for him again, knotting her free hand in his hair tightly. He’d sped up significantly, his hips now bucking against her wildly, erratically, and every moment or so Enjolras moaned and nearly lost himself, but kept going, holding on.

“I’m so close," she moaned, "Please, please…”

“I know, angel,” he said against her skin, his hand holding hers tightening. “Come for me. Come for me, sweetheart. Éponine."

She let out a half-sob half-scream as her orgasm hit her right as he said her name, and she was only vaguely aware that the loud, broken, wild noise she’d made had sounded a lot like his name.

He kept moving as she came, groaning as she squeezed him but holding out long enough to feel her orgasm with her. As she only felt wild overwhelming pleasure, his was more a build, a coil he felt being pulled tighter and tighter, about to finally break. He was repeating her name, pressing the length of his nose against her cheek, trying to be closer to her and to feel her expressions as she gasped and cried.

He pulled out of her, his cock now pressed between the two of them, sliding against her folds, roughly rubbing her clitoris with every thrust. The sudden new sensation right as she was starting to come down from her orgasm made her scream out in pleasure. His cock stroked and stroked and stroked her clit, and Éponine arched her back and tilted her head back and tightened both her hands, one holding his hand and the other in his hair, so roughly that Enjolras groaned in pain, only fueling her. Éponine still screamed, a broken, agonized noise, as her second orgasm rose over her first and she could only see stars.

She was only slightly aware that Enjolras was finally having his own orgasm, his cum landing on both their stomachs as he still thrust against her. Éponine was so beyond sated, so fucking satisfied she could barely keep herself conscious. She was reduced to little whimpers and moans and twitches as he finished himself off.

He collapsed on top of her, both their breathing ragged. He rolled off her as soon as he had the energy, but stayed close, pressed against her side, kissing whatever skin of hers his mouth could find. His hand rested on her breast, gently squeezing and massaging absently.

“You did so well, sweetheart,” he murmured, kissing his way up her shoulder to her collarbone as he moved over her again, keeping his weight off her. “So perfect, so good, so wonderful.” Éponine barely had the energy to move, but smiled gently as he praised her.

Enjolras kissed down to the skin between her breasts, then spent a few moments sucking and teasing one nipple, then the other. He moved his body down hers, kissing her ribs, her navel. He licked his cum off her stomach, something that made Éponine look down at him in surprise. His eyes were closed and he seemed to be enjoying it, tasting himself on her skin.

Enjolras licked his way lower and lower until he was circling her clitoris—but not touching it. When he pulled back and started kissing her inner thigh instead, she moaned in disapproval and felt him smirking against her skin.

His hands moved around her until he was holding her ass with both hands, and he must’ve decided not to torture her too much because he moved his mouth back to her and licked once, thick, from her entrance to her clitoris, pressing his tongue as hard as he could. The tip of his tongue flicked her clitoris at the end of that, and Éponine's enter lower body spasmed. He looked up at her and saw her breathing roughly, her breasts rising and falling, and groaned lightly at that sight.

Enjolras sucked her clitoris into his mouth and she nearly screamed.

His hands on her ass tightened, pulling her even closer to him and holding her in place as his mouth worked. He held her clit with her teeth and flicked it rapidly with his tongue. Her legs tried to close around him and he brought his hands to her thighs, holding them apart while he worked.

“Fuck, Jesus Christ,” she moaned, both her hands in his hair. “Please, please, fuck…” She wasn’t really sure what he was begging him for, but she said it anyway.

One of Enjolras’s hands left her thigh and she felt two fingers curling into her. He pumped them into her steadily and she moved her hips, trying to ride his fingers as his tongue kept circling her clitoris. She felt herself drawing close again and he must’ve felt her too.

He kept his mouth and fingers steady, just slightly speeding up both after a moment or so. When he started lightly humming around her clit, Éponine arched her back and cried out, static in her veins as another orgasm washed over her, gentler this time, but lasting longer as Enjolras stayed consistent.

When she was aware of what was happening again, Enjolras's mouth was still between her legs. She moaned, still so sensitive, and he looked up at her, realizing she was conscious again. He smiled gently, love in his eyes, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he climbed back up beside her.

“Do you want me to…?” She motioned toward his cock, but he smiled gently and shook his head as he lay beside her, Éponine on her back and Enjolras on his side facing her. His arm was thrown possessively over her stomach, his fingers moving in lazy circles on her skin.

She turned her head to look at him, her eyes heavy with lethargy and satisfaction.

“Tired?" Enjolras asked, a gentle smile on his lips. His voice was a low, hoarse rumble that lulled her, and she nodded, closing her eyes.

Éponine turned then, facing away from him but moving back so that he was completely curled around and pressed against her. They both knew he couldn't stay, but she could pretend like they were falling asleep together. He moved his arm so that she could use it as a pillow, and she nuzzled against it as she closed her eyes and started drifting off. The last thing she was aware of as she fell asleep were his arms slipping away from her.


End file.
